


Bridge to Somewhere

by kzal



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kzal/pseuds/kzal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jareth needs an engineer.  Much to the consternation of all, the Labyrinth sends Sarah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started as a result of Challenge 21 on the Labyfic livejournal community, which reads as follows:
> 
> **This time I'd like to see you write a story that features an unexpected development or a suprising twist. I'm going to leave it quite open as to what this development could be, but let me just say the wilder the idea the better! The main purpose of the challenge is to try and get people to avoid the familiar tropes and cliches associated with the fandom - let your imaginations loose. So you could have Sarah become a ninja and join an order fighting malovelant supernatural forces, or Jareth could somehow end up as a down-and-out stalking through the streets of New York. In effect, take a character or setting from Labyrinth and do something different with it.**
> 
> In most stories with a grown-up Sarah, she's an artist, or a writer, or something like that. I decided to take her in a different direction entirely.

"Mr. Dudko. Mr. Dudko!"

"Just a minute, Ms. Williams." The portly site manager turned away from Sarah, addressing the crew foreman at his side. "Get them started on the scaffolding for the north wall. And make sure to mark that hole; we won't get anywhere if we end up with OSHA on our ass."

"No, don't," Sarah said, and the foreman paused, giving her the skeptical once-over that she was far too used to receiving from the Boys Club of construction workers, demolition men, and her fellow engineers that compromised her work life. "Mr. Dudko, the building is unsafe. We need to get everyone out,  _now_!"

"Unsafe?" He raised both eyebrows, giving her his own Skeptical Eye. She fought back a sigh. They worked for the same consulting firm and he was a geologist, not an engineer; he should trust her, especially in front of a subcontractor like the foreman.

"Yes. Unsafe." She turned, tipping back her hard hat as she pointed. "See that I-beam? It's structural, and it's rusted through. We need to get a special crew in here to shore up the roof, before we do  _anything_  else. Right now it's being held up by habit and a touch of friction." She suited action to words, picking her way carefully around the discarded, broken metal that littered the old factory floor as she moved towards the nearest exit.

"Tell the crew," Dudko said to the foreman, and followed her. "You're sure, Ms. Williams?" he said, when he caught up with her. "Because this is really going to set us back."

"A workplace injury lawsuit will set us back farther," she said tartly. "Yes, I'm sure."

* * *

"No, I don't know how long it will be." Sarah shifted the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she fumbled for her key. The motel keycard was acting up again, and it took her four tries to get the green light and open the door. "Another two weeks at least."

Billy made a frustrated noise in her ear. "Two weeks  _at least_? What happened to finishing this by the end of the month? We were supposed to go to court next Monday."

"It's not like I planned a potential building collapse. It will take as long as it takes." She dropped her briefcase and bent awkwardly just inside the door, tugging at the laces of her work boots. Her fingers came away muddy—fantastic—and she almost dropped the phone as she contorted to work them off her feet. Her jeans followed, caked with mud almost to the knees, and then her socks, dusty at the cuffs and soggy at the toes.

"Isn't the building coming down anyway?"

"Yes, but it has to be done right. Too much risk if it comes down on its own, especially on a Superfund site."

" _You're_  the one that wanted this, Sarah. All I want is for you to get your ass home so we can finally call it quits."

He was right: the divorce was her idea and this trip had been a last-minute situation, a favor to a coworker who'd had a death in the family. She cradled the phone in one hand again as she shook herself out of one sleeve of her heavy coat, and then switched to pull it off completely. "I'll talk to my boss," she said, as she dropped the dusty coat to one side of her muddy boots and finally let herself step into the rest of the room. "I might be able to come home for a few days while they get the work done. I'll have to do the design here, first, though."

"Whatever." She could hear the sarcasm, heavy, in his voice. "I don't even care anymore." He hung up without saying goodbye.

Sarah sighed and tossed the phone onto the nightstand, then flopped down onto the room's second bed—not the one she'd been sleeping in—and started pulling at her hair to release it from its braid. Twelve years together, thirteen months now apart. In retrospect, it had probably been inevitable from "I do." Too young, too passionate, too blind, too willing to believe that the other would change, in time. Too stubborn to adjust when that never happened.

The room was warm, thermostat running high enough that she knew she'd be uncomfortably hot later, but now she felt chilled to the bone. Chilled by the cold weather she'd been out in all day, chilled by the danger in the half-demolished building, chilled by Billy's coldness, though she should be used to it. She lay down on her back, one foot still on the floor, and scrubbed her hands across her face, feeling the day's grime, thick and heavy on her skin.

Something touched her ankle, where her foot lay on the floor. She yelped, and jumped, raising her foot and rolling over to look down, only to see the bedskirt swaying slightly in the breeze caused by the overworked heating unit. There wasn't any under-bed space; the bed frame went all the way to the floor all the way around. Shaking her head at her own silliness, she rolled over and sat up, putting both feet down. It was time to get on with her evening. She would shower. And she'd call for takeout. The Boy's Club would be out at some chain drinking beers on the company dime, but she didn't have the energy.

She leaned forwards, reaching for the takeout menu next to the phone, and as she did, two pairs of hands reached out from the not-space under the bed, grabbed each ankle, and  _pulled._

"Shit!" Her reach had turned into a lunge, and she hit the floor on all fours, between the hotel room's two beds. "What the—"

Two more pairs of hands reached out from under the other bed, and latched on to her wrists. They yanked  _down_ , even though the floor was in the way, and her face hit the carpet and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

The surface under her cheek was hard and dusty and definitely not carpet, and her head was pounding like someone was using it as a drum. She whimpered, and rubbed at her eyes, then screwed them closed again as the motion brought more discomfort: she'd forgotten that her hands were covered in mud from her boots.

"What's this?" The voice was sharp, strangely accented, and somehow familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. "I gave you specific instructions, and instead of following them, you brought me a half-dressed female?" There was a thump and a squeak, and then a footstep, very near, and she blinked her eyes open carefully. "A half-dressed female," the voice repeated, with disdain, "who is wearing  _neon orange_." Her eyes focused on the heel of a boot.

"It's for safety," she said automatically, and heaved her body over so that she could look up. Her eyes traveled up, up, up, over tight black pants, a leather jacket and hair that… wow. "And where do you get off insulting my clothing? You look like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket. You—"

She cut herself off as he spun, and she caught sight of the face of the speaker. He had angry, narrowed, ice-blue eyes under the wildly poofy blond mullet that suddenly seemed much less amusing, and a frown that quickly transmuted into a look of shock.

Their eyes met, and memory crashed over her in a wave. Toby and the Labyrinth, Hoggle and Ludo and Didymus, and the Goblin King, strange and dangerous and… and how had she forgotten  _all_  of that?

"You," she breathed, stunned, and only when he frowned at her again did she realize that he had said the same thing at the same moment. "You—you—"

"You," he said, coldly, and louder. "You do not belong here."

"I'd say I don't! But your goblins brought me! And you—you took—why did you take my memories?" She thrust a hand behind herself to try to stand up and it came down on something feathery and  _moving_. It was displaced with an indignant  _squawk_  and she scrabbled with her feet and tried again, this time standing up so that they were nearly nose to nose.

The Goblin King watched her with amused disdain. " _My_  realm.  _My_  responsibility.  _My_  memories."

" _My_  experience." She returned in the same tone, glaring up at him and forcing herself not to pull the hem of her shirt down to cover her underwear; it would only draw attention to her state of undress. " _My_  mistake. And my  _friends_." She narrowed her eyes at him. "My  _victory_."

" _My magic_ ," the Goblin King hissed, eyes narrowing again in a way she associated with projectile reptiles and blenders of doom, and he drew a hand down between them, a crystal balanced on the tips of his fingers.

"Oh, no, you don't." She stepped back, raising a hand. "I don't want any of that. Never did." Her foot squelched down into something wet and sticky, and she winced and looked down to see an unidentifiable brown substance, clinging to her heel. She looked up again.

"Liar." He whisked the crystal away somewhere, but kept his eyes on hers. "You wanted it."

"I wanted Toby more."

"Even so."

She sighed and looked away. The room was full of goblins, most of them small, all of them watching her and the Goblin King like they were actors in a theater. It was a little unnerving.

"Why am I here?"

"That remains to be seen."

"What, you didn't bring me?" She crossed her arms over her chest, remembered that that would draw her shirt up and expose more of her legs, and let them fall again.

"Travel between the Realms is strictly controlled." He shrugged and turned from her, stepping onto the dais with the throne and sinking onto it like… well, like a King holding court. "Once, we could take mortals whenever it pleased us, but now, there are too many who would take notice. You have been taken from a specific time and place, under the aegis of the Labyrinth, and you must stay until Her purpose is complete."

"And  _her_  purpose is?"

"If you don't know, I certainly don't."

"You're  _so_  helpful."

He just smirked. Insufferable bastard.  _How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?_  She could hear the question, now in memory.  _Let's see how you deal with this little slice_.

But the way through a problem was by  _thinking it through_. Any puzzle was solvable, in time. She'd learned that here, she realized suddenly, and had taken that certainty out into the world and never let it go.

Dammit. She didn't want to thank this place, or the Goblin King.

"Alright. Is there a time limit?" She glanced over at the clock on the wall, and rolled her eyes when it did match her memory: thirteen hours was  _beyond_  impractical as a rational system of timekeeping.

"No," the Goblin King said. "That was for our specific game. As a victor of the Labyrinth and Her guest, you may stay as long as you like."

"And if I want to leave?"

"You'll have to take that up with Her."

She frowned, thinking through questions. "What about time back where I came from? How long will I be gone?"

He shrugged. "Time between the Realms is fluid. You could return minutes after you left, or it could be days. Weeks. Months."

" _Months?"_

"Haven't you heard the stories? Come to a Faerie ball, stay for  _years_." His mouth curved in a wicked smirk, but she remembered dancing in his arms, and the expression he'd worn then was at odds with his present demeanor.

Yet another question. He'd said a lot of things, before. Was any of it anything other than a trick to get her to lose?

Based on how he was acting now, probably not. And that wasn't a helpful line of thought, anyway.

"So, it could be any length of time, no matter how long I stay."

"Indeed."

Her foot was cold and sticky. Her face and hands were caked with mud. She wasn't wearing pants, she hadn't eaten, she hadn't slept, and her shirt was neon orange. If there wasn't a time limit, there was time to get comfortable.

"Alright, then." She clenched her fists at her sides. "I require a shower, clothing, and food. We will deal with this once I have those things."

"Will we?"

"I am a Guest of the Labyrinth," she said, and as the words came out she knew that they were  _true_ , which was a very odd mental sensation and one that she would be examining as soon as she got a free moment. "We will."

"Very well." He lounged back in the throne, and clapped his hands. Every goblin snapped to attention. "Kedge," he said, and a heavyset creature with a broad nose and a Navy cap stood at attention. "Show our guest to her room."


	3. Chapter 3

The shower was remarkably modern, and oddly familiar, a lingering sense of deja vu that had her stepping out once she was clean instead of lingering in the warm water. It was also stocked with what smelled like her usual brands, though the bottles were blank, which was just plain _odd_ , or was the Goblin King some sort of weird voyeur?

Things got even weirder when, lacking other options, she opened the closet on a whim and found clothing that was perfectly her size - socks and shoes and underwear, plus jeans that fit exactly as well as the ones she'd split on a job site a few months back, and a dark green button-down shirt like she usually wore to the office.

Paper. She needed paper, soon, because the list of weird things that had happened in the past half hour were already beyond counting. But since there was no paper in the room, that would have to wait, and in the meantime, the Goblin King was the only one she'd seen to give her answers.

She found her way back to the throne room easily - just two lefts, a right, another left, all the way down the hall to the windows, a left, down two flights of stairs, through two sets of doors, and a left again at another long corridor. The door stood open, and as she approached it, she heard the Goblin King's voice clearly, as it was raised in anger.

"—the idiotic, short-sighted, foolish, and simply _wrong_ solution! I sent you to find me someone to repair the bridge! Go try again."

"But, Lady builds bridges!" piped up one voice. "Builds them real good!" There was a chorus of affirming noises, peppered with echos of the words, "real good!"

"'Lady builds bridges,'" the Goblin King echoed mockingly. "What sort of self-respecting woman builds _bridges_?"

"One with a degree in engineering," Sarah cut in, annoyed, as she entered. "Though I specialize in building safety, not bridges."

"Lady builds bridges," one goblin said indignantly. "With the little master."

"And then the bridges go boom!" another cried.

Toby. He had been watching her with Toby. She had taught his class some engineering basics and had them build balsa-wood bridges, and then driven toy trucks full of bricks across to test their load-bearing capacity. Those bridges did, indeed, "go boom."

She crossed her arms and glared at the Goblin King. "I won. You don't have any right to be watching me."

"As if I would." The Goblin King dropped back into his throne and threw one leg over the arm, his pose a study in indifference. "One selfish, irresponsible child among many? What would be the point?"

"Then what—"

" _They_ may have followed the boy." He waved a hand, indicating the assembled multitude. "They grew quite fond of him during his time here, and not many children they grow fond of go home again. You needn't worry; they can't hurt him. Only watch."

"And—" began one goblin.

" _Quiet_ ," snapped the Goblin King, and the speaker quailed.

"And what?" Sarah asked.

"I see that you are somewhat more respectably clothed, now," he answered, instead. "I have ordered a meal prepared. Shall we?"

" _And what?_ " she asked again. "What else can they do to Toby?"

The Goblin King waved a hand. "They can speak to him if he speaks to them first. Truly, nothing to be concerned about."

"My brother has goblin friends, and that's nothing to be concerned about?"

"Has anything unusual happened to him?"

Nothing had; not to her knowledge, anyway. She stayed silent.

"No? Then, as I said, there is nothing to be concerned about."

"I'll be checking on that when I go home."

"You may do what pleases you; it is little concern to me." He stood, and descended the few stairs to the main level of the throne room, extending his arm in an old-fashioned gesture of escort. "Will you join me for dinner?"

Her stomach took that very moment to give a disgruntled and gurgling rumble, and she scowled and took his arm. "I don't know what to think of you."

"Things are not always—"

"—What they seem, in this place," she finished with him. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

The table in the next room was set low to the floor and surrounded by pillows. The Goblin King handed her down to sit to one side, and then seated himself at the head of the table, diagonal to where she sat. He clapped his hand sharply, twice, and a pair of goblins entered; thankfully, they looked somewhat cleaner than the crew that had crowded the throne room. One of them placed a large, deep dish between Sarah and the Goblin King, removing the lid to show a smooth and beautifully golden pastry shell. The other carried two bottles of wine, a single glass, and one lacquered wooden spoon.

"An ancient tradition," the Goblin King said, as the servants withdrew. "This is the traditional meal served at the first peaceful meeting between two who once were foes, to demonstrate that they intend to treat peaceably together henceforth."

Sarah frowned at the table. "Why don't we have plates?"

"We share."

"Share?"

"And," he said, and smiled, "we feed each other."

"Feed each other?"

"And you will go first. If I have ordered any harmful substance placed in the dish, you might select it, and kill me instead. We then alternate, so that if you add anything through trickery, you run the same risk."

"And wooden spoons." Sarah picked it up and examined it. "So we don't stab each other?"

"You catch on quickly."

"I see the flaw already," Sarah said, and quirked a brow at him. "If you added something, the chances of my accidentally feeding it to you are far lower than the chances of you seeking it out to feed to me."

"The same could be said of you." The Goblin King shrugged. "Additionally, either of us could use a poison to which we know ourselves to be immune. It _is_ still a game of trust. Usually, it would be witnessed by several courtiers from either Court, but as you have no Court, I thought it best to keep this between us."

"Or you just don't want to admit you'd do this with me?"

The Goblin King stiffened, and his smile faded. "I thought you would appreciate the symbolism," he said coldly. "If I was wrong, I will leave you to it."

"Wait." Sarah held out her hand, and the Goblin King paused in the act of rising, and met her eyes. "I guess I can trust you not to poison me."

"And?"

"And for now, that's enough."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a lot more difficult to feed an adult than it was to feed a baby, and even that, Sarah hadn't done in years. For example: if you got food all over a baby's face, it was cute. A Goblin King? Far less so. She got through the first bite okay, and the second, but on the third, she almost missed, and only the Goblin King's agile tongue kept the thick, stew-like filling of the savory pie from landing in his lap.

"I guess you've trusted me with your dignity, too," she said as she put the spoon down. "That part would be worse with an audience."

"Intentionally embarrassing your partner would have been considered a deadly insult, when this ritual was more common," he said as he reached for the spoon. "It's one of the reasons for the traditional audience. However, there are many ways to cause your partner discomfort while staying within the limits of the rules." The spoon, when it came, contained a rather larger serving than he had given her before. It all fit, and neatly, but she couldn't open her mouth again without making a horrible mess, or speak around the portion he'd given her. She scowled at him, chewing furiously.

He smiled and reached for the wine, pouring a generous measure and immediately sipping from it. She nodded to show that she understood the gesture—wine also not poisoned—and kept chewing, swallowing hard.

"So it seems I can discern your purpose here, after all," he said as she swallowed the last of her mouthful.

"You need a bridge."

"And the Labyrinth chose you to build it."

"Completely without your influence?" She served him a more moderate mouthful this time, as she finished the question, and he smirked at her, taking his time in chewing.

"It should be apparent from the manner of our greeting that I was not involved."

Sarah shrugged. "Just checking."

"Have some wine."

"Why?"

"Alternate sips."

Sarah thought about that, and reached for the glass. The wine was light and pleasant and very smooth. "Because some poisons have higher viscosity?"

He fed her another spoonful. "Your grasp of assassination techniques is moderately alarming."

She giggled, almost helplessly, then clapped a hand to her mouth to avoid spilling. When she finished the mouthful, she chuckled again, and shook her head. "I can be pretty paranoid, but you've made it into an art form."

He picked up the wine glass and took a long drink. "It's a lifestyle."

"That's grim." She served him again. "So this bridge, where is it?"

He swallowed and smiled at her. "Where do you think?"

* * *

"Close your eyes," he'd said, when he'd offered to show her the task after they'd finished eating. She hadn't felt them moving, though she had consented to his using magic to take them to their destination. They must have moved, however, because there was only one place they could be now, and she didn't need to open her eyes to identify it. The Bog of Eternal Stench. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and held it, drawing in the horrific odor and processing it, and then letting it out again.

When she opened her eyes, the Goblin King was looking at her curiously.

"Most people cringe and cover their nose," he said.

Sarah shrugged. "I've been on job sites that were at least this bad."

"At least?"

"Collapsed containment tank at a wastewater treatment plant. The whole parking lot got swept away in what was referred to by employees as a 'shit tsunami.'"

The Goblin King furrowed his brows and tilted his head, birdlike.

"What?" she asked, disconcerted.

"You are not at all what I expected."

She rolled her eyes. "I figured that," she said. "What with that 'no self-respecting woman builds bridges' bit."

"Well, they don't!" he exclaimed. "Women create beauty."

"A bridge can't be beautiful?"

" _Feminine_  beauty."

Sarah shook her head. "We are not speaking even remotely the same language, are we?" Not waiting for a reply, she turned away, and stepped to the bank at the edge of the Bog, looking down at what she had to work with.

It made sense, in a way. This bridge, which had broken under her feet, was the only bridge she'd seen in the Labyrinth. It had apparently been rebuilt after her crossing, but now it lay in several splintered pieces, which jutted out of the Bog at odd angles. Part of the bank had collapsed as well, the entire anchor of the bridge listing drunkenly over the putrid water. The rocks Ludo had called were no longer available as stepping-stones: they had apparently acted as a sort of dam, increasing the level of the Bog behind them, and now they were crowded with filth and detritus, the water running over them in foul-smelling cascades.

"We require something more permanent," the Goblin King said from behind her.

"We?"

"It is the request of the Prince of these lands. I do not wish to be constantly plagued with his requests, so I have seen fit to grant this one."

"There's a Prince of the Bog?"

"Indeed."

Across the burping expanse, she could see the tree next to the anchor on the opposite bank, where once Sir Didymus had challenged her. She leaned forward, squinting, but there was no one there, and she stood with a sigh.

"What are you looking for?"

"I was hoping to see Sir Didymus."

"He has nothing to guard. I believe the Prince sent him on another quest. Best to keep him from being underfoot."

"The Prince again. Why didn't I hear anything about a Prince of the Bog last time I was here?"

"The position was created after your departure. Why the sudden interest in politics?"

"It's something new. Can't help myself." Yet  _another_  question to be answered, but right now there was work to do. Bending down, she picked up a bit of the dry soil at her feet, gauging its texture by rolling it between her fingers. Sand, just as she had suspected, and with far less silt than was really advisable for a supporting material.

"We'll have to widen the channel," she said, hearing the Goblin King's step behind her as he came closer. "I suppose we don't need a full ESCP, given that you're the only regulatory body, but some plan to make sure we don't accidentally dam something up would be advisable. And I'll need to see load-bearing capacity and other technical specifications for any materials you have to work with."

"Technical specifications?" She turned at his tone, and was somewhat surprised and also gratified to see the Goblin King looking completely bewildered. "And…"

"Erosion and sedimentation control plan. Not my area of expertise, but I know the basics. For when we put the bridge in, so it doesn't destroy the surrounding area. Unless you were planning to put the bridge up with magic?"

"I, ah, no."

"Good, because I didn't want to guess at the tensile strength of magically generated metals." He was blinking at her again. "What? You brought me here because you want more than the few planks you had before. Wasn't it you who first taught me to be careful what you wish for?"

He blinked once more, and then smiled, and then laughed, a rich and rolling sound. She couldn't help but smile in response. "Well said, Ms. Williams," he said, with his next breath. "So tell me what else you require."


	5. Chapter 5

"Gibbet! Fizz! If you run off with that string I swear, I'll trip you right down into the Bog." Two little goblins froze and stared at her, eyes wide. Sarah would stop them following her around, if they weren't so useful. "Fidget! Get them under control and head back to the Junkyard." A fat, slow goblin, the last she'd addressed, heaved himself to his feet and cuffed Gibbet, who was nearest, across the back of the head, causing him to drop the spool of string clasped tightly in his hand.

"Go," he grunted, and pointed. Gibbet rubbed his head and frowned, and Fizz rolled his eyes, but in a moment, both complied.

"Remember, Fidget. A protractor, and please, if you can find a measuring tape you'd be a lifesaver, and of course any heavy string and paper paper paper!"

"Yep!" He smiled at her and trundled off.

It was an odd system, but it was one that worked. Gibbet and Fizz had energy and to spare, and shared an uncanny ability for finding things if given clear search parameters, but were likely to be distracted at any moment by something new and shiny. Fidget was the laziest goblin she had yet encountered, despite his name, but he had a memory like an elephant. Together, they were usually able to find what she needed, if it was to be found.

The Labyrinth, it seemed, did not generate any goods internally. Everything they had came either from the Junkyard ("Stuff is just there" was the most coherent explanation a goblin had been able to give her), or was acquired by the Goblin King by some other means. And as said Goblin King had looked at her in bewilderment when she asked for tools—apparently, the Labyrinth somehow got by with standards of measurement as ridiculous as its concept of time—she had turned to the Junkyard in hopes of finding familiar tools in the chaos. It had once contained her entire childhood bedroom, after all.

She turned from the departing goblins and stepped up to the edge of the Bog.

"Alright, Gip!" The goblin on the other side of the Bog, near Sir Didymus' tree, bounced to his feet, another long spool in hand. "Stand there, at the edge of the cliff, take the end of the string, and hold on real tight. Don't let go!"

"You got it, boss lady!" He gave her a toothy grin.

"Whenever you're ready, Plink!" She turned to a thin, reedy goblin with a large, hooked nose. "Just makes sure the string doesn't get it wet!"

"I know, I know." He sighed, took the spool, and trudged into the putrid water, squelching rude noises from between his toes with every step. It wasn't the cruel punishment it seemed: Plink had been given this job specifically  _because_  he had fallen in the Bog within hours of becoming a goblin, and had been summarily banished to its environs. "Go here, go there, go back, go forth," he muttered as he climbed the slope. "Never get a moment's rest." She had learned to ignore him after the first day. Plink enjoyed complaining, right until he was offered a break, at which point he would whine that they thought he was useless, so Sarah had given up trying to appease him. The mysterious Prince of the Bog, as yet still unseen, had ordered him to assist, and assist he would.

"Thank you, Plink." She took the spool from him and walked to the edge of the bank. "Pull tight now, Gip!"

"Holding!"

Pulling the string taut, she then cut through it at the point where it crossed the bank, leaving a thumb's-length of extra material. She tied a labeled paper tag onto the end of it, then handed it, and the spool, back to Plink, who set off back across the Bog towards Gip, carefully coiling the string in his hand to keep it out of the water. While she waited for him to cross, she looked down at her rough sketch of the site, added the measurement location, and labeled the drawn line with the same label as the string.

As systems of measurement went, it was incredibly crude, but for now, it was what she had. And as soon as Fidget found her a measuring device—at this point, she'd take a grade-school ruler—she could convert these measurements into something she could actually work with. Then it would just be a matter of time, and a lot of math, and finding suitable building materials. Tomorrow, she was slated to visit a part of the Junkyard which contained construction debris (according to Gibbet), and from which most of the materials of the Goblin City had been scavenged. Once she knew what she had to work with, she'd know what kind of bridge she could build.

Plink reached the other side, and handed off the spool.

"Ok, Gip, now from the other corner. A bit to your left—no, the other left!" Gip turned in a complete circle and wobbled dizzily, but finally ended up at the spot she'd pointed out. "When you're ready, Plink!"

* * *

Sarah finished the day with three spools worth of measurements: she had taken every distance she could think of, even measuring between the various locations where she and Gip had stood, so that her meticulously-labeled drawing might  _possibly_  be able to be distilled into something with actual scale some day. In the meantime, between investigating her materials and transferring the day's notes—written on scraps of old school papers, empty bits of newsprint, and even a few sturdy napkins—onto the carefully-preserved half-empty sketchpad that Gibbet had found her a few days before and which she had left back in the Castle, she still had a lot to do before she could get down to designing in earnest.

"Good job today, guys," she called to Gip and Plink, who stood on the opposite bank, Plink ready to head home to his place in the Bog and Gip to take the longer, Bog-free route back to the City. "I think we have everything we need for now."

"Plink!" A loud voice rang out over the Bog, and the goblin in question jumped like he'd been smacked, snapping a crisp salute in the direction of the speaker, who was presumably standing deeper in the Bog, hidden from Sarah's view by a small hummock. "Dibble's out over th'islands again, and there's a clog ta clear. Go an' get him out an'  _don't_  let'im set a foot in th'water, y'hear?"

"Yes, Highness," Plink said, crisp as his salute, and then his shoulders slumped. "Work all day, should be done, but I never catch a break," he grumbled as he trudged away, passing behind the hummock as the speaker, presumably the Prince of the Bog, continued forward, and came into view.

He was a short, knobby little man wearing a twisted circlet of wood and a frown, and from his bushy eyebrows and bulbous nose to his big boots and the plastic bracelet on his wrist, Sarah knew him.

" _Hoggle?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoggle, Prince of the Land of Stench, is canon in the manga, but don't assume anything else holds. That one thing just worked really well for this story.
> 
> Gip the goblin was borrowed from Pika-la-Cynique of Girls Next Door fame.


	6. Chapter 6

"You!" Hoggle's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. " _You_. What d' _you_  want? And what're you doing  _here_?" He crossed his arms and glared at her.

"Hello to you too," she answered, put off by his tone. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm in charge of rebuilding the bridge." She gestured at Gip, who was looking between them uncertainly, and the retreating Plink.

"Why?"

"Because I have to, or the Labyrinth won't let me go home." Hoggle had advanced to the edge of the bank on his side of the Bog, and planted his fists on his hips. "Hoggle, what's wrong?"

"You," he said shortly. "Y'called once, an' never again. And y'came  _back_. I thought we were friends!"

"We are!"

"Then why're y'here?"

Sarah crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Are you angry with me for not calling or for being here?"

"Both!"

"And if I tell you neither of those things is my fault?"

"How's that then?"

"He took my memories."

"But we were your  _friends!_ "

"Of course you were! You are! That doesn't keep magic from making me forget!"

The glared at each other across the Bog, and then Hoggle sighed, deflating. "Yeah. Okay." He sat down on the broken bank, feet dangling over the edge. Sarah sat down too, cross-legged and well back from the edge, watching him.

"So…" she began, but trailed off.

"So yer building' the bridge?"

"Yeah." Sarah rolled her eyes. "The Goblin King asked the goblins to find him someone to do it, and they'd seen me doing it with Toby, so they picked me. He told me the Labyrinth won't let me leave till it's done."

"S'true, if you've understood that right."

"That's good to know." She looked down at her hands. It was surprisingly difficult to find a topic. Hoggle had been her biggest help during her quest, and she cared for him, but they'd never really just  _talked_ , before.

"Who's Dibble?" Sarah asked, eventually, gesturing in the direction Plink had disappeared.

"My manservant," Hoggle said with a sigh.

"Your…  _manservant_?"

Hoggle rolled his eyes. "Jareth made me. Since my  _elevation_ , putting on m'own clothes is beneath m'dignity,  _he_  says." He grunted, kicking his feet. "Gave me a goblin with no nose. But th'idiot won't stop climbin' trees, an' then he falls out an' gets hisself stuck." He sighed, and looked down, one hand going to the bracelet at his wrist, the one she'd given him so long ago.

"Oh." She cast around for something else to say. "Do you have any other subjects?"

Hoggle shrugged again. "Didymus answers to me now. Won' stop calling me 'yer Highness' even when I tell'im we was friends first, an' he don' need t'do that."

"Speaking of… Prince of the Bog? You weren't before. How did that happen? When?"

Hoggle sighed. "That much was yer fault. When you was here b'fore."

" _My_  fault?"

"Jareth tol' me that if ye kissed me, he'd turn me into a prince—of the Land of Stench. An' he keeps his word, or at least, th'letter of it."

"The Goblin King did this to you? Oh, he'll be hearing from me on this one." Sarah stood up.

"Sarah, don'—"

"I have a right to express my opinions!"

"But I—"

"Don't worry, Hoggle, I'll put it right."

* * *

"Goblin King!" Sarah called out to him as she entered the Throne Room. "I want to talk to you! Why didn't you tell me about Hoggle?" She stopped just inside the doorway and looked expectantly towards the throne.

It was empty.

"Um. Lady," said a goblin at her feet, "King… not here." He shook his head and then tilted it at the throne, as though she was too stupid to have noticed.

"I see that," she said stiffly, squashing the urge to be rude. "Do you know where he is?"

The goblin who had spoken shrugged, and the one sitting next to him said, "Gone."

"And do you have any idea when he'll be back?" She tried to smile, but it must not have worked very well. The goblin's eyes widened and he looked at his fellows, and then looked down and started picking at his toenail.

"Lady!" This time the speaker was a very small goblin who sat at the base of the Goblin King's throne. "Please come here."

Surprised by his syntax as much as his request, she did as he asked, and when she came close enough, he held out a scroll to her. She took it, hoping it might be a letter explaining things, but all she found was a list, with the word "Here" repeated several times, followed by several more repetitions of the word "Gone." Each "Here" had a line drawn through it.

"What's this?"

"His Majesty's schedule," the goblin replied calmly. "So we know if he will be here or gone."

"I see." She counted quickly; "Gone" was repeated sixteen times. "He's going to be gone for  _more than two weeks_?"

"Um?" The goblin stared at her, eyes wide. "Is that how many times it is?"

"Can't you count?"

"Um?"

"Count! How many words on the page!"

"No?"

She had started out only somewhat annoyed that he hadn't told her about Hoggle; now that she knew His  _Majesty_  wouldn't be around to answer her questions, she was quite a bit angrier. "Do  _you_  know where he is?"

The little goblin shook his head. "I just keep the list. Sorry, Lady."

"It doesn't say when he's coming back, either."

"It might tomorrow."

He could magically update his schedule, but he couldn't be bothered to tell her that he would be away. Perfect. She clenched her jaw.

"Thank you," she managed. It wasn't the little goblin's fault that the Goblin King had no sense of manners. "If he should happen to return ahead of schedule, please inform the King that I would like to speak to him."

"Um…."

"Such a request is well within my rights," she said, the slowly-becoming-familiar sense of  _rightness_  coloring her words. "If the King has a problem with it, he can take it up with me."

The little goblin bowed. "Yes Lady."

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sarah trudged through the gates of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, exhausted, anxious to get to her room and into the shower.  She had spent the day mixing cement with the goblins, and in spite of her cobbled-together safety gear (her closet had contained scruffy steel-toed boots in an approximation of her size, and the Junkyard had supplied gloves without too many holes in important places and a hard hat two years out of date), she was pretty sure there was cement drying in her hair, not to mention the globs dotting her old jeans (torn at the knee) and her Junkyard t-shirt (long-sleeved, bright green, and three sizes too big).  

It had been more than three weeks since she had seen a hint of the Goblin King.  The schedule held by the the goblin by the throne had not been updated: he had dutifully crossed out one “Gone” per day, and then continued crossing out blank spaces as more days passed.  It had gotten to the point that Sarah had stopped checking, and was resigned to wait an indefinite amount of time for His Annoyingly Absent Majesty to return, and so of course today was the day when she rounded the corner at the top of the second flight of stairs and walked straight into his chest.

She staggered and caught herself on the railing, narrowly saving herself from a tumble.  By the time she looked up again he had backed off a few steps, and was brushing at the dust now covering the front of his crushed-velvet jacket.  

“Really, Ms. Williams.”  He frowned down at her as she pulled herself slowly to her feet.  “Are you _ever_ presentable?”

“Really, Goblin King,” she drawled back in the same tone, “do you generally take off for _weeks_ without informing your guests of your plans?”  She shook her head.  “I apologize for running into you, but I won’t apologize for the state of my clothes after spending the day teaching _your_ goblins to cast concrete for _your_ bridge.  What’s your excuse?”

“Kingdom business.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that bureaucratic crap.  Was it really so urgent that you couldn’t even let me know you’d be leaving?”

“My responsibilities are no concern of yours.”  He brushed his hands once more across his ensemble, and the whole thing changed, into a poofy white shirt and black… well, they were too tight to be called anything but leggings, except that they shone like leather.  And why had he bothered brushing away the dust when he could just do _that_?

Sarah scowled.  “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s just plain rude.”  She crossed her arms and leaned against the edge of the stairwell, watching the Goblin King inspect himself.  “Besides, I finished the plans for your bridge six days ago.”

He paused in the act of adjusting one of his gloves, his attention on her again. “You have completed the plans?” 

“I didn’t want to start building without your okay, but we’ve been practicing in the Junkyard.”

“Practicing?”

“Concrete construction requires at least a little attention to detail.”  She opened her hands, gesturing at her own dust-covered disarray.  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your people require some instruction.”

He leaned back against the wall and considered her again, and this time, she weathered his inspection proudly.  Yes, she was a mess, but it wasn’t as though this was her general state of being.  It was the result of a good day’s work, and the goblins _were_ learning.

“What _were_ you doing?” he asked, when his perusal was complete.

“I told you, pouring cement.”

“And… what does that entail?”

Sarah sighed and looked down, shifting to ease the foot whose boot had started to pinch.  “Building wooden moulds.  Filling them with aggregate—we’re going for concrete, here.  Mixing ash and burned lime and a little water, and pouring it into the moulds.  Getting the goblins to run back and forth over the top and jump up and down to compact it.  Getting the goblins to _stop_ running back and forth and jumping up and down, and to leave it alone while it dries.”  The first several attempts had some extremely interesting drawings in their tops, and she’d had to find a pH-neutral soap to get wet cement off of goblin extremities.   All in all, it was rather like pouring cement with a pack of hyperactive, fearless, extra-strong six-year-olds.  She shifted, easing the other foot, and looked up again. 

“I see,” he began, but Sarah held up a hand, and he stopped.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “this is an ancient method, since you don’t have modern equipment, and I didn’t remember the exact ratios of ash and lime, so we’ve had to do some experimenting.  Hopefully in a few days, when this last bit is set, we’ll have our final formula.”

The Goblin King frowned.  “This is rather more complicated than I believed it would be.”

Sarah shook her head and met his eyes, incredulous.  “I’ve been telling you that from the beginning.”

The Goblin King straightened from his posture against the wall.  “Well, standing here accomplishes nothing.  Show me the plans.”

Sarah blinked at him, incredulous.  “This moment?”

“Of course; my time here may be limited.”  

“Do you know now that you need to leave again tonight?”

“No.”

“Then you are completely ridiculous, do you know that?”

“Pardon?” The Goblin King raised his eyebrows.

“Given our past, and the fact that you are imposing on me for a favor, do you really expect me to jump when you say frog?”

He blinked.  “You wished to return to your world; this will expedite that result.  I expect, therefore, that you will do as I command because it is in your own interest.”

“Right now, my interest is mostly in getting a shower.  You know, so that I might actually be _presentable._ ”

The Goblin King grimaced and looked her up and down again.  “Perhaps you should remove some concrete.”

Sarah pushed past him, taking that as agreement.  “Thirty minutes.  And it’s _cement_.”

“There’s a difference?”

Sarah turned, walking backwards down the hall to call back to him.  “The fact that I know the difference is yet another reason why you need me.”


	8. Chapter 8

“There.”  Twenty-nine minutes after the collision on the stairs, showered and changed (and now, alas, ravenous), Sarah sat behind the desk she had found miraculously whole and undamaged and had a few goblins carry up for her, and turned her hand-sketches towards the Goblin King, concept art on top, backed by design schematics.  “Solid as you could want.  You won’t be repairing that one for years, if ever.” She was proud of the design: a series of three arches crossed the widened gap, the bridge as wide as the path to either side.  The concrete they had been perfecting would form the base and support, and the bridge would then be faced with the sandstone that built the majority of the Labyrinth.

The Goblin King glanced at the drawing and shook his head.  “No.  We can’t build this bridge.”

Sarah furrowed her brow.  “Well, yes, it’ll be a lot more work than the bridges you’ve had there in the past, but people have been using concrete and building bridges like this since the Roman empire.  We can get it done with what’s laying around the Junkyard, no problem—that’s why the goblins and I have been practicing.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”  The Goblin King frowned down at the sketch.  “This bridge isn’t what I need.  It’s far too safe.”

“Too _safe_?” Sarah looked at him in shock.  “How can it be _too safe_?  Wasn’t that the point? You wanted something that wouldn’t fall down!”

“A runner learns nothing without fear.”

Sarah frowned, and considered that.  “Speaking as a former runner, I—“

“Stop.”  He held up a hand, palm towards her.  “Don’t tell me that you would’ve learnt just as much without fear.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.  That wasn’t what I was going to say at all.”  She leaned over the table and caught his eyes, hands on either side of the drawing.  “I didn’t realize that was the point.  I thought I had been afraid because the Labyrinth was _generally unsafe_ , not because you planned it to be so in a very specific way.  And what about the Cleaners?” _See how you deal with this little slice._

He grinned.  “That’s what you get for being cheeky.  And, of course, the blatantly obvious ‘secret’ passage you used to escape them was right there all along.”  He waved a hand.  “I gain nothing by killing children.  Would I have a shaft of hands to catch someone who stumbles into an oubliette, if I wanted people to die?”  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “They’ll even lift you out, if you’re smart enough to ask for it.”

She rolled her eyes; he was right, she _had_ been stupid.  “Touché.  But Didymus told me that the bridge we knocked down had stood for generations, so I didn’t realize that its breaking was part of the trial.”

The Goblin King laughed.  “He’s a _dog_ , Ms. Williams.  When have you known a dog to have an accurate concept of time?”

“So, not so much ‘a thousand years’ as ‘maybe fifteen minutes?’”

“Well, since the last time I had it repaired, following its previous use.”  He shrugged.  “More than fifteen minutes.”

“So you need a _scary_ bridge.  That would’ve been helpful to know before I started.”

“I assumed you would take the original bridge as a design idea; I think it rather obvious.”

“Obvious…” Sarah trailed off as she sank back in her chair, putting her head in her hands.  “This is why I never want to get into management.  Client relations.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.  Are you going to be _here_ for the next few days?”

The Goblin King furrowed his brow.  “I believe so, but I can’t be sure.  I didn’t intend to be away as long as I was.”  At that moment, there was a loud _bang_ , and a goblin started chittering, out in the hallway, speaking too quickly to be easily understood.  “Ah!”  He turned and looked towards the door.  “I ordered us food.”  He gestured, and the door opened, revealing a cart, bearing food, jammed against the doorframe.  With the firmer target of an open door to aim for, the two goblins pushing the cart got it properly aligned and inside, and despite the method of transport, Sarah had to admit it smelled delicious.

Or, possibly, she was just _really_ hungry.  Goblin cooking was always edible, but not always very tasty.  Maybe they had put in a little extra effort for their King?  However, there wasn’t anywhere to eat.  The desk was covered in paper and notes, normal for her at the end of a design process.  

“May I—“ began the Goblin King, at the same time as she said, “Let me just—“ and they both reached for the mess of papers.

“I’ve got it.”  Sarah waved his hands away and pushed most of the papers together into a rough heap. She set the bridge plans on the edge of the desk, and the rest on the windowsill. “It’s easier to find things later if I do it.”

“By all means.”

Sarah frowned over her shoulder at him.  “What the hell does that mean?”

The Goblin King stepped back from the desk, allowing the goblins to lay the table.  “I merely wished to be of assistance to you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say you did.  I said I wished to offer it.”

He had a point.  Sarah watched him for a moment while the goblins finished up.  When they had done so, the larger of the two gave an awkward bow; beside him, his comrade attempted to do the same and ended up in a full somersault, and Sarah smiled in spite of herself, and then looked back at the Goblin King.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not used to taking help from anyone.  Shall we?”

He sat down and uncovered their plates.  Sarah had eaten a lot of goblin-fried chicken since coming to the Labyrinth—it seemed to be one of their favorite dishes—but they had clearly put effort into this spread, with perfectly mashed potatoes and green sides as well as the unexpectedly delicious meat.  And, god, she was _hungry_.  For the first few minutes, they ate in silence, and then the Goblin King said softly, as though there had been no interruption, “Are there none to help you, Above?”

Sarah choked a bit, and then blushed: the question seemed to her unusually intimate.  To buy time, she popped a large bite of chicken into her mouth.  The Goblin King watched her with amusement: it was clear he had seen through the gambit.

“I’m getting a divorce,” she said finally, swallowing, “which tells you all you need to know about the state of my personal life.”  She looked up to find that he was watching her carefully, steadily, and she remembered, suddenly: _fear me, love me_ …. 

That wasn’t a road to go down at the moment.

“And at work, well.  _You_ had all sorts of preconceptions about what women should and shouldn’t be expected to accomplish, when I got here.  It isn’t quite like that anymore Above, but a lot of the time, especially with older guys, I do have to fight for my place at the table.  Mostly that means not acting too girly, but that does include things like not expecting them to hold the door or help me carry something heavy.”

“But when you were young, you were—“

“Yeah,” she said quietly.  “I know.  I just don’t have time for it anymore.”

The Goblin King leaned forwards and picked up the discarded bridge plans, paging through them carefully. “There is beauty, here,” he said eventually.  “Not of a showy or conventional sort, perhaps, but the work, the geometry, the detail: there is beauty.”

Sarah nodded.  “But we still can’t build it.”

“No.”

She leaned both elbows on the desk and folded her fingers together, eyes closed, considering.  “Frightening, but safe and easy to repair.”  That left out pretty much anything designed for cars, but… “Ah!”

“Yes?”

“How about a suspension bridge with a hanging deck?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, like a rope bridge, like the Inca built.”  Grabbing up one of her precious few remaining blank sheets, Sarah started a rough sketch.  “We place anchors on either end, and then suspend rope between them.  Below the rope, you hang another section, with crossing wooden planks.  Even when they’re well-made, these things sway like crazy when you walk on them, and lots of people are afraid of them.  It will also reward brave runners, because they sway less if you walk quickly than if you take your time.  We can use untreated wood; it will decay over time, adding in the possibility of a plank breaking by chance.  You’ll have to re-plank once enough have broken, and you may occasionally need to replace one of the cables, but that’s far less repair work than the current situation.”

He smiled, eyes alight with mischief.  “Why Ms. Williams, I believe you have struck upon a solution that answers my every request.”

She waved a hand.  “Enough with ‘Ms. Williams.’  Call me Sarah.  It’ll take me a day or two to switch my measurements over and check the Junkyard for materials.  Can you be sure to be _here_ for construction, Goblin King?  Magic will make the process go more quickly, and you will need to know how it’s put together to repair it when it breaks.”

“I will make it my first priority.” He stood to leave, then stopped at the door and looked back.  “And Sarah…  call me Jareth.”


End file.
